


If It Isn't Old, It Isn't God

by Zagzagael



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An opening scene for an earlier Office - back when times were good...and characters full of lighthearted fun. </p>
<p>Jim sets Dwight up. Of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Isn't Old, It Isn't God

_It never gets old. Why does it never get old?_

Jim is seated studiously at his desk, biting the inside of one cheek to keep from bursting out laughing every time he glances over at the desk beside his own.

Dwight seems to be in a particularly good mood. He has just come through the front door humming, loudly, “Enter the Sandman”. Not the main riff, but the buildup. Jim tilts his head, closes one eye and listens as Dwight stops mid-chord and begins from the beginning. Again. By the time he’s shrugged out of his over coat and hung it on the same hook he hangs his coat on every morning, he’s completed the buildup circularly four times, vibrato dead on. Jim only knows the incredible accuracy of this feat because he grew up with older brothers. 

He nods to himself and smiles, and then glances over at Dwight’s new desk, courtesy of an early morning arrival on Halpert’s part and three weeks of scouring yard sales. 

Dwight’s desk, if it could be referred to as such, is four planks of weathered barn wood atop two rickety saw horses. His chair is a three-legged stool the seller had claimed was an antique milking stool; Jim had no way of verifying that as he had no working knowledge of what a milking stool might actually look like. He had paid $3 for it. Several items were placed neatly on the “desk top” – a small wooden-framed chalkboard with a fresh stick of chalk, a lit oil-burning lamp, and, in the corner of the desk, Jim’s crowning find and the object that had set the prank in motion in his mind. A reproduction Crosely vintage-style candlestick telephone. Flat black. A bell-shaped mouthpiece and a stripey cloth-covered receiver cord. It had cost him a hefty twenty dollar bill, but he knew he had to have it the moment he set eyes on it one early Saturday morning scavenging the yard sale circuit with Pam, fueled with two Venti mochas.

He hunched over in his chair as Dwight made his trademark purposeful stride behind him, turning wide and heading toward his desk. Jim watched, painfully peripherally, as Dwight tried hanging his messenger bag strap on the non-existent chair back, frowning down at the stool, hands mid-air, a visible line of concentration between his brows. 

Jim bit his lower lip and pulled his own brows down tight over his eyes, leaning back slightly. Dwight set his bag on the floor and expertly swung one leg over the stool and sat. He placed his hands on the desktop and his gaze traveled across the empty expanse, settling finally on the phone.

As he watched Dwight look at the phone, brows still knit, it rang. Jim saw his shoulder jerk slightly beneath the mustard coloured shirt. Dwight leaned forward, pulled the chalkboard towards him, dialed the wick in the oil lamp higher, peering closely at the resulting yellow circle of light cast on the chalkboard, then he reached out and grasping the stick part of the phone, lifted the mouthpiece and said “Dwight Schrute” with the slightest sound of a question around the edges of his name.

“Dwight,” Jim said politely into his own handset. “I’m worried. I think Bessie might be off her feed.”

Silence played out like a fishing line....

“Michael!”

Jim placed his receiver back into its cradle with a satisfying clunk. He made a triumphant spin in his chair and smiled broadly at Pam who smiled broadly back. It was going to be a good day.

***

“Jim thinks he’s made me uncomfortable. Quite the contrary. I enjoy old things, I believe we’ve strayed far from simpler times, too far. For example, indoor plumbing. This is a strange affectation most people cannot live without. I, myself, use an outhouse. It’s a two-holer and as such makes it easier to run over the day’s chores with Mose as we can use the facilities at the same time. Efficiency. And no need for a distasteful plunger. Ever.”


End file.
